He kept one hand on her breast, thumb circling the stiff nipple he had just freed.
The other slid down the smooth plane of her stomach — unhurried, deliberate — like a man who has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it.
The thin white training pants clung to her hips, damp already at the crotch from the slow, patient rubbing he had given her through the fabric while she slept.
He hooked two fingers beneath the waistband and drew them downward with deliberate laziness — inch by inch — letting the cool air kiss each strip of skin as it came free.
The pants peeled away like a second skin, sliding over the swell of her thighs, past her knees, until they pooled at her ankles.
He tossed them aside without looking, eyes already moving back up.
Her sleeping body had no idea it was being unwrapped.
